


Saw You At The Fish Market

by Namelonbun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hot Part-time Worker!Iwaizumi, Implied Sexual Content, Lewd Make-Out, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining Oikawa Tooru, Volleyball Player!Oikawa, background matsuhana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namelonbun/pseuds/Namelonbun
Summary: Oikawa takes a detour on his way home now. It’s an extra 15 minutes, but the pit stop to the fish market is worth it as far as Oikawa is concerned. He can buy himself a snack (one shop has incredibly fresh milk bread), build some rapport with shopkeepers with his winning smiles, and pick up any last-minute groceries. And more importantly, catch a glimpse of his latest fascination.In other words, Oikawa befriends hot part-time worker Iwaizumi and tries to impress him both off and on the court, in hopes of more.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 31
Kudos: 340





	Saw You At The Fish Market

Oikawa takes a detour on his way home now.

It’s an extra 15 minutes, but the pit stop to the fish market is worth it as far as Oikawa is concerned. He can buy himself a snack (one shop has incredibly fresh milk bread), build some rapport with shopkeepers with his winning smiles, and pick up any last-minute groceries. And more importantly, catch a glimpse of his latest fascination.

On good days, Oikawa can spot him easily at the open entrance of a traditional cutlery shop. The shop is modest-sized with various knives and sharp-edged blades laid out in display cases for shoppers to browse, usually manned by two people (one in the front, one in the back) in the afternoon. And today is a good day. Oikawa pinpoints him immediately from across the bustling street, observing him with interest that’s on par with the scrutiny usually reserved for opponents on the court.

A familiar form shuffles near the entrance. The strong physique is highlighted by well-fitting black slacks that hug the right places and a shirt that clings closely to skin, sleeves rolled at the shoulders revealing toned arms with impressive biceps _(more than impressive)._ What separates that person from the crowd is the navy apron with the shop’s logo tied at the waist.

Oikawa sighs softly, his eyes roaming over those arms. He wonders again what they would feel like wrapped around him. In the gleaming sunlight, they reflect a sheen of sweat, biceps protruding from the strain of carrying a heavy load. The sight is another highlight of Oikawa’s day.

Without a doubt, Iwaizumi Hajime is a fine man.

“Hi, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sing-songs loudly, grinning when he sees Iwaizumi snap his head towards his direction.

“What do you want, Shittykawa?” Even from this distance, Oikawa can clearly see his scowl.

Oikawa skips over. “How mean, Iwa-chan! I came to see you.” Shaking a finger, he mocks, “You’ll get permanent frown lines if you keep looking at me like that.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Quit bothering me at work, and I won’t have a reason to.”

He drops the heavy load to the ground and dusts off his pants, grunting in annoyance at the mess his pants have become. When Oikawa doesn’t respond, Iwaizumi turns his attention back to him. Just in time, Oikawa raises his gaze to meet Iwaizumi’s questioning eyes.

“What are you doing here again? You can’t have that much free time with school and volleyball.” Iwaizumi asks dryly, “Are you slacking?”

Oikawa places a hand over his heart and feigns offense. “Iwa-chan, have a little more faith in me! I’m a good kid. Besides, I know I brighten your day and you”—he rummages through his volleyball bag, pulling out a Potari Sweat to offer to Iwaizumi with a sly smile—“look forward to my visits.” Oikawa winks. “Hydrate yourself, Iwa-chan. Just looking at you makes me thirsty.”

Iwaizumi scoffs but doesn’t comment, most likely ignoring Oikawa’s suggestive undertone. He accepts the drink from Oikawa’s hands, and their fingers brush in passing.

“Thanks, Trashykawa,” Iwaizumi says, his scowl lessening. He closes his eyes and begins to drink earnestly.

Oikawa suppresses a smile as he watches Iwaizumi. The movement of Iwaizumi’s throat is mesmerizing before Oikawa’s eyes follow the slight trickle that trails down the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth. He hums lowly in appreciation.

“Wow, Iwa-chan, you must be so parched. Did you not get a break yet?”

“There’s more to do today than I expected, so I haven’t yet.” Iwaizumi wipes sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He grumbles, “I am starving. Damn, I should have eaten more before work.”

Oikawa thinks out loud, musing, “ _Mhm_ , should I go buy you something then? Milk bread? Or sweets for energy boost? Wait, no. With your sour face, I doubt you would like sweets.”

“Why you—”

“Kidding, kidding!” Oikawa laughs, putting his hands up placatingly. “Put that fist down, Iwa-chan! My face is too beautiful to be marred—unlike yours.”

“Shittykawa, come here!”

Iwaizumi lunges for Oikawa. Not surprisingly, Oikawa evades, and it turns into a game. It’s a familiar, almost daily, routine where threats of punches and streams of insults are thrown as Oikawa scurries around, trying to avoid Iwaizumi’s frighteningly clenched fist. The horseplay usually lasts for 5 minutes before one of them calls it quits. After barely dodging Iwaizumi’s grasp, Oikawa raises both of his hands up in peace.

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says cheekily, “even if girls don’t look at you, I will. Someone has to.” 

In one swift move, Iwaizumi jabs Oikawa in the side, right into tender flesh. Oikawa moans in pain and dramatically doubles over, clutching his injury, as if Iwaizumi struck him a critical blow.

“Ow, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines. “I swear you hit like a spiker with your brute strength. It’s like I was a volleyball, and you were trying out to be Ace.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Shut up. I didn’t hit you that hard.” His voice sounds annoyed, but the ends of his lips twitch upwards like he’s caught in some inside joke.

“Speaking of spikers,” Oikawa says, “my kohai, the shitty first year that I mentioned before, thinks my tosses are subpar and I—"

And off Oikawa goes. He rants about everything that has happened since the school year started: volleyball practice with that new underappreciative first year, school deadlines, and other miscellaneous worries that are piling up into some monstrosity.

By all means, Oikawa is not doing bad in school, excelling actually—given that he’s attending a top-tier university with a Division 1 volleyball team and juggling his extracurriculars on top of demanding coursework while somehow retaining his sanity—but, he thinks he can do better.

While Oikawa loves his life at college, college is objectively more draining than high school with its explosive freedom and responsibilities, and his 3rd year is turning out to be the most challenging. Maybe it’s because he’s another year closer to graduation, but there is even less time to spare for anything outside of volleyball and schoolwork. To make matters worse, the pressure to get noticed by V.League scouts is growing like an untreated infection. 

However, if Oikawa Tooru is known for anything, it’s that he is a perfectionist and a vain one at that. He will take everything in stride with a winsome smile, fake or not.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi cuts in, his voice sharp. “Nobody has their shit together in college, so don’t undermine yourself. Besides, you’re doing well in volleyball. You’re the starting setter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa says, waving his hand dismissively.

Iwaizumi presses his lips together into a thin line. “Seriously. It’s not an easy feat to keep playing volleyball, much less in college with other shit going on. Give yourself credit where it’s due.”

Oikawa pauses at his tone. “Did you play before?”

“In high school, yeah,” Iwaizumi reveals. He smirks. “I was an Ace, actually.”

Oikawa’s mouth forms an “o.” That would make sense how Iwaizumi seems to understand and empathize with Oikawa’s volleyball qualms without needing any context. And here, Oikawa thought Iwaizumi was an overly knowledgeable volleyball enthusiast. Well, he feels dumb.

Then Oikawa imagines what Iwaizumi would be like as an Ace, dressed in a volleyball uniform. An immediate vision appears of Iwaizumi in mid-air with his back arched and one arm outstretched, the other arm bended back to powerfully swing; his muscles would be tensed and shining with sweat. The image is so vivid that it sends shivers down Oikawa’s spine. 

Iwaizumi chuckles at Oikawa’s speechlessness. He must have also seen the unspoken question in Oikawa’s face, because he adds, “I chose not to play in college. I don’t have the time for it with my job and classes.”

“Do you watch the volleyball matches?”

“Honestly, no. I don’t know anyone on my school’s team.”

“You should come to my matches then,” Oikawa says without hesitation. “Come watch me play and see how magnificent I am.”

The dumbfounded look on Iwaizumi’s face is priceless. Oikawa grins widely. “I mean, you miss it right? The spotlight, the adrenaline. Watch me play and share the moment with me when my team wins.”

While Oikawa’s words are encouraging, they sound oddly intimate and not laced with his usual blatant flirtatiousness. Oikawa feels his cheeks slowly heating up from Iwaizumi’s unnerving stare. Before he can steep in embarrassment and backtrack, Oikawa strikes a haughty pose with one hand on his hip, emanating his characteristic charm.

Oikawa quips, “You’ll fall for me just like everyone else.”

That restarts Iwaizumi. Instantly, he adopts an unimpressed look and shoves Oikawa aside like his cloying charm physically reeks. 

Iwaizumi scoffs, “You’re so full of yourself. It’s gonna be hella embarrassing if your team loses the first time I watch."

“So you would come?” Oikawa asks gleefully.

Iwaizumi grunts noncommittedly. He turns his attention back to the heavy load on the floor and crouches down to unpack it. 

Oikawa pouts. “Iwa-chan, don’t leave me hanging!”

Iwaizumi cranes his neck up to glance at Oikawa. “We’ll see,” he mutters.

It’s not a promise or a definitive yes, but Oikawa is satisfied with it. He nods as he clutches the strap of his volleyball bag tighter, a beatific smile splayed on his face.

________________

Practice the next day is grueling.

Oikawa plops onto a bench and lets out a sigh of relief. He lightly frowns as he stretches his legs out. His right knee still aches from an earlier stumble, the pain light yet worrisome, a reminder that he is not invulnerable. Hunching over, Oikawa adjusts his kneepad and hears feet shuffling towards him. 

“Yo,” a low, monotone voice says.

Oikawa looks up to see Hanamaki sitting down next to him, popping his drink open. Before taking a sip, Hanamaki sends him a sidelong glance and smirks.

“Gonna see your boy later today too?” he asks nonchalantly.

Oikawa’s eyes widen. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a boy.”

Right on cue, Matsukawa drops in from behind. He chuckles. “Oh yeah? Then who’s the guy you’ve been eager to meet after practice all this time, huh?”

He settles on the other side of Oikawa on the bench, sandwiching Oikawa between him and Hanamaki. For the nth time, Oikawa thinks it’s ridiculous how easy it seems for the two of them to gang up on him.

“Don’t think we don’t know.” Hanamaki grins. 

Matsukawa shares a similar shit-eating grin, nodding in agreement. “You’ve been acting suspicious for over a month and damn,” he whistles, “no wonder. With that beefcake, we get it.”

Oikawa splutters, “Wait, you guys have seen hi—”

Oikawa snaps his mouth shut and hastily stands up, unable to glare at both of them without getting cross-eyed. He places both of his hands on his hips and towers over them, eyes narrowing at their widening grins.

“Did you guys stalk me or something?”

“Not stalking,” Hanamaki corrects, “more like happening to be in the same place, same time as you were when you chatted up that stud last week.” He leers at Oikawa. “He’s hot.”

“Yeah, he is,” Matsukawa seconds.

Oikawa avoids looking at either of their smug faces and focuses on the volleyball net in front of him, his face burning from a mixture of embarrassment and approval. He wills himself to calm down.

“When are you going to introduce him to us? We can meet him today,” Matsukawa drawls.

Oikawa jerks his head back to them, startling them. “No!” He shakes his head, ignoring their forming protests. “You and Makki will embarrass me.”

Hanamaki raises a brow, unconvinced. “More than you embarrassing yourself? I doubt that.” He smirks. “Besides, we’ll be great wingmen. Right Mattsun?” 

"Aye.” Matsukawa exchanges a sharp high-five with Hanamaki. “We’ll come and make your dumbass look good,” he affirms. 

Oikawa pushes down the urge to shout at them. He inwardly moans; Mattsun and Makki will never let him live it down once they knew how gone he was for Iwaizumi. Any chance they get to poke fun at Oikawa, especially at his (lack of) love life, they’ll snatch it. These two assholes may be his dear friends, but they’re fucking gremlins when it comes to teasing him. 

The quip on Oikawa’s tongue is ready, but it gets swallowed when their coach yells,

“Break time is over! Get your asses back here. We’re starting the next match.”

________________

After sending threatening smiles and pointed looks to Matsukawa and Hanamaki, Oikawa walks the familiar route to the fish market alone. He did briefly entertain the idea of inviting them but then immediately scratched it. Oikawa doesn’t want to risk making Iwaizumi uncomfortable by unexpectedly bringing his friends to meet him, unsure of what signal that would send.

Oikawa stops by his favorite pan shop and greets the owner with a cheery smile. He is welcomed graciously as the owner knowingly gestures him towards the row of freshly baked milk bread. The smell is mouth-watering, and Oikawa buys two today.

He’s humming a childhood tune when he approaches the shop, high in spirits. About half-way to the entrance though, Oikawa stops in his track. He expects Iwaizumi to be at the front, and he is. Except, Iwaizumi is not alone.

By the looks of it, Iwaizumi is helping a customer, a high school girl judging by her outfit. They’re standing closely together, the girl leaning over to peer at merchandise besides Iwaizumi. Oikawa frowns when he notices the furtive glances that the girl shoots at Iwaizumi; if she’s trying to be sneaky, she is not doing a good job of it.

Or maybe she’s not trying to.

Oikawa watches the girl grow bolder, her advances becoming obvious, as she places a hand on Iwaizumi’s arm, a tad bit below his bicep. She bats her eyelashes, her lips moving in what seems to be a question. Oikawa’s frown deepens when Iwaizumi makes no move to disengage himself even though his personal space is glaringly invaded. An unknown feeling stirs in Oikawa’s stomach.

He assumes Iwaizumi is being professional and restraining himself, otherwise he would have already dislodged the girl. Oikawa is vaguely aware that he’s just standing there, motionless while his lunch churns in his stomach.

Oikawa knows he should do something, move forward or backwards, left or right like he’s a video game character, but his brain short-circuits when he notices the flush that creeps up Iwaizumi’s neck. Maybe it’s out of discomfort, but a voice inside Oikawa darkly whispers otherwise.

At that notion, Oikawa goes rigid. He knew the odds were stacked against him, but to see tangible proof in front of him hurts, more than he thought it would. His eyes don’t deceive him; Iwaizumi is affected by the girl, and it makes him blanch because of its implications. The knot in Oikawa’s stomach balloons, threatening to implode, as an inkling that Oikawa has subconsciously repressed presents itself in clarity:

_I want Iwa-chan to only look at me._

The realization is startling yet at the same time, unimpressive. If Oikawa was honest with himself, he already knew his attraction to Iwaizumi extended beyond surface level since the start. When Oikawa first saw Iwaizumi—in a disheveled state with hair mussed and a piercing glare—he had such a visceral reaction that he spent a whole week thinking about Iwaizumi before deciding to introduce himself.

That had been over a month ago. Now they’re friends. _Just friends._ Oikawa harshly kicks a pebble on the ground, debating if he should turn around and go home. He closes his eyes, heaving a deep breath.

His eyes must have remained closed longer than he intended. When Oikawa opens them, he sees Iwaizumi alone, his hazel eyes staring straight at him. Iwaizumi nods in greeting. Oikawa plasters a smile on and trudges over.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says gruffly.

“Hi, Iwa-chan. So eager to see me?” Oikawa teases, but it lacks his usual zeal. If Iwaizumi noticed, he doesn’t mention it.

“ _Tch_ ,” Iwaizumi frowns, “I’m surprised you didn’t show up earlier today. You usually arrive around the same time.”

It warms Oikawa’s heart to know that Iwaizumi pays attention to him in detail and bothers to track his visits diligently enough to know whether he’s late or not. As if gaining Iwaizumi’s undivided attention solved everything, Oikawa feels the tension that lines his body evaporating, the stifling feeling from earlier dissipating. 

“Aw, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa grins, “You missed me. You must be so lonely without me.”

“Kusokawa, don’t twist my words.”

“You were waiting for me,” Oikawa states, smug.

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue. “I saw you standing there like a dumbass and wondered why you weren’t moving.”

Oikawa shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his track pants. He digs his fingers into his thighs. “You looked busy. You were talking to a girl.”

Iwaizumi pinches his brows, most likely discerning the edge in Oikawa’s tone. “A customer, yeah,” he retorts. “She was asking about which kitchen knife to buy.” 

“Is that it?” Oikawa asks, staring at him pointedly. 

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. “What are you trying to say?” His voice taking on an edge as well. Oikawa’s nonchalance doesn’t fool him.

“I mean,” Oikawa explains, holding Iwaizumi’s gaze, “it looked like there was more to it, with the way she was holding onto you.” He intended to say it flippantly, but even to Oikawa’s ears, his tone sounds accusing.

Iwaizumi certainly hears it, his brows furrowed into an irked expression. “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at, but it’s not like I could tell her to fuck off. Anyway, are you here just to get on my ass?”

(If that question was asked in a completely different context, Oikawa would have exuberantly exclaimed _yes, absolutely-fucking-yes._

Unfortunately, that is not the case right now.)

Oikawa huffs, jutting his hip out and placing a hand on it. Petulantly, he says, “I don’t think you should mislead girls, Iwa-chan.” He dramatically covers his heart, “You’ll break hearts if you’re not careful.”

The atmosphere seems to shift, because Iwaizumi shakes his head at Oikawa like he can’t comprehend his logic and levels a furious glare, not his typical mean one but a raging, hard-eyed glare, at him. Oikawa gulps. Iwaizumi looks like he’s about to strangle Oikawa with his bare hands.

“Like _you’re_ the one to talk, Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi growls, eyes blazing. “I know you’re one of those guys who makes girls go ‘kaka-kaka’ everywhere and enjoy every bit of it— _don’t deny it_ —’cause you know you’re so fucking hot, you narcissistic prick!”

Iwaizumi groans vehemently, “Goddamnit, you piss me off sometimes. For fuck’s sake, I hear your name even at my school.”

Oikawa is speechless. He gapes at Iwaizumi while Iwaizumi takes gulps of air, his mind mentally rewinding the tape and replaying the only words that ring through: _you’re so fucking hot._ Iwaizumi called him fucking hot. Iwaizumi thinks he’s fucking hot.

(Oikawa completely ignores the context.)

Oikawa feels fucking hot now that his brain has processed those words, no doubt saved in the deep recess of his mind. That was like the ego boost Oikawa needed, because he is all sparkles and nauseating preppy charm now.

“Wow, Iwa-chan. I knew you weren’t blind to my beauty.” Oikawa smiles alluringly and tilts his head to show his good side to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi face-palms, his visage conveying _I can’t fucking deal with you anymore._ He releases an exhausted groan. “Go home, Shittykawa. You’re pissing me off.”

Oikawa feels undeterred, embolden by Iwaizumi’s previous words. In a kind voice, he asks, “Are you almost done with your shift? Let’s leave together.”

Taken aback by the demeanor change, Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa in bewilderment like he asked him some inane question about organic chemistry. It takes a second for Iwaizumi to recuperate and properly respond, glancing at his watch belatedly.

Iwaizumi frowns. “I still have 30 minutes left on the clock. Don’t wait for me.”

“It’s fine,” Oikawa quickly reassures. “I have to buy some groceries anyway.” It’s a lie; he made it up on the spot. “I’ll meet you here in 30ish, and we can walk together.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth like he’s about to protest before seemingly deciding against it. He nods to Oikawa. “Okay. Sounds good.”

Before Iwaizumi can change his mind, Oikawa waves and pivots, briskly walking away. Once he’s a safe distance away, Oikawa breaks out into a large grin, feeling incredibly pleased with himself. He is giddy on the way to the nearby supermarket, unable to contain his excitement at the progress he’d just made. Today will be the first time that he’ll get to head home with Iwaizumi. 

This is promising. Oikawa can envision walking home with Iwaizumi as an extension to their existing routine, his fleeting visits evolving into something more tangible, more _committing_. Oikawa’s brain slams on the brakes. 

_Commitment—_ to what though?

Oikawa enters the supermarket, mechanically grabbing a shopping basket and traveling to the snack aisle. He stares distractedly at the various colorful items, his mind spinning a monologue of jumbled thoughts that he’s struggling to follow. 

Well, one good starting point is that Oikawa is not in denial. He knows something is building between him and Iwaizumi, a kind of charged connection that he hopes Iwaizumi recognizes as well. It’s exhilarating when they bicker, trading insults without a hitch in their breath, communicating as if they have been friends throughout their life.

Oikawa enjoys what they have, he cherishes it, deeply. But a selfish part of him, the greedy side of him that Oikawa both loathes and credits his defining traits to, asks for more. It’s tiring, this mental tug-of-war.

Sighing, Oikawa swipes some Pocky and chips and dumps them into his basket. He strolls away from the snack aisle, navigating his way towards the produce section while peering around to recall any other items. It’s futile; Oikawa can’t remember what else he needs, because his mind keeps returning to Iwaizumi.

It doesn’t matter how many times Oikawa reevaluates his feelings towards Iwaizumi; he arrives to the same conclusion. The problem lies with Iwaizumi. Oikawa isn’t sure where Iwaizumi stands. The latter has yet to give any strong indication that he is interested in Oikawa _like that._ Sure, they’ve brushed hands before and held eye contact longer than necessary in a handful of times, but those stolen moments are insubstantial, worth nothing for Oikawa to confidently declare that he has a good shot.

Oikawa doesn’t want to destroy their friendship, but he can no longer delude himself into thinking that his crush will go away. The urge to lay his hand on Iwaizumi’s back or smooth Iwaizumi’s eyebrow creases or let his touch linger has developed into a longing that makes his fingers periodically twitch. 

A sudden ping startles Oikawa out of his reverie. He pulls his phone out and curses at the time. In his absentminded state, Oikawa forgot that he was on a time crunch. He rushes to check out and hurries his way back to the shop.

By the time Oikawa arrives, Iwaizumi is already waiting for him outside. He has changed into casual wear, and Oikawa covertly does a double-take.

Iwaizumi looks every bit of a streetwear model, donning a distressed denim jacket over his half-tucked shirt and sporting a pair of white sleek sneakers, or a stupidly attractive boyfriend waiting for his better half with the way he’s checking his watch. Oikawa can’t decide. Either way, Iwaizumi oozes a sex appeal that has Oikawa almost tripping over his feet.

“Ya-hoo, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, stepping besides him. “Sorry, did I make you wait long?”

Iwaizumi grumbles, “No, but I thought you would be faster than me, Slowkawa.”

Oikawa pouts. “So mean, Iwa-chan. I lost track of time when I was buying snacks.”

“You only bought snacks?”

“Iwa-chan, are you my mom? Why do you sound so disapproving?” Oikawa huffs, opening his grocery bag for Iwaizumi to peer in.

“The hell,” Iwaizumi snorts, “where is the nutrition? It’s mostly junk, besides the cucumbers.”

Oikawa tut-tuts at Iwaizumi, an unconcerned smile on his face. Digging into his bag, Oikawa retorts, “I also have milk bread _._ Plenty of goodness to keep me up and running. Also, I got one for you.” He drops it into Iwaizumi’s hands.

“You said you were hungry yesterday so,” Oikawa shrugs airily, “I figured you would be too today.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes soften as he looks at Oikawa. “Thanks.”

Without further ado, Iwaizumi tears open the package and takes a big bite, making a show of chewing. Oikawa smiles and allows himself to admire Iwaizumi’s jawline and muscle movement for a moment before he unwraps his own milk bread. They start to walk in the direction of the train station, side by side as a comfortable silence settles over them. After finishing, Iwaizumi stuffs his trash into his schoolbag and wordlessly extends his hand out for Oikawa’s.

“Thank you, Iwa-chan. So sweet of you,” Oikawa says as he hands over his trash.

Iwaizumi flushes slightly at the compliment. “Shut up, Oikawa. You’re the one who is always bringing me something during my shifts.” Then after a pause, he murmurs, “I appreciate it.”

The gentleness in Iwaizumi’s voice catches Oikawa off guard. Oikawa wants to pair that voice with a face, but Iwaizumi’s gaze is glued straight ahead. It’s fine though, hearing Iwaizumi’s voice with a tender lilt and lacking its usual coarseness is enough for a wave of fondness to wash over Oikawa. Moments like these are rare where Iwaizumi is soft and insult-free. Too bad Oikawa can’t help himself.

“My, my, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases buoyantly, “And here I thought you were blind to both my beauty and chivalry. I’m happy to know your eyes are functioning well after all.”

Like a switch, Iwaizumi cuffs him with the strength that earned him his brutish reputation. Oikawa bites back a whimper. _“Ah. There he is,”_ he mutters under his breath.

Iwaizumi scowls, shoving his hands into his jeans. “You’re a piece of shit. Why do I even bother?”

“Actually,” Oikawa starts emphatically, “I am a nice and wonderful person to be around. It’s not my fault that you don’t have the brains to recognize that.” Then Oikawa winks at Iwaizumi and coos, “But it’s okay, Iwa-chan. I’m not after your brains to begin with.”

The suggestiveness in Oikawa’s tone is unmistakable. Iwaizumi chokes on his spit, abruptly halting his footsteps, and gapes at Oikawa who stares back at him innocently.

“Goddamnit, you’re impossible. How the hell do people fall for you?” Iwaizumi snaps before averting his gaze away.

It’s no use. Oikawa marvels at the red that floods Iwaizumi’s features, from the tip of his ears to his cheeks to inching down his neck. Iwaizumi is flustered, more so than the earlier state that Oikawa saw. _Huh._ Then, it hits him. Electricity shoots through Oikawa, thrills of excitement zipping from head to toe, when he realizes that it’s because of _him._

Oikawa grins broadly and knows his eyes are probably crinkling too in the way that’ll lead to wrinkles, but he doesn’t care. Not even Iwaizumi’s dirty glare can stop him. He feels overcome with the revelation, so pleased and…relieved?

“Stop grinning, Shittykawa. It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.” Oikawa laughs. “But Iwa-chan, I’m charming both off and on the court. Maybe if you saw me play, you would understand.”

“Like hell,” Iwaizumi says wryly. “I get that you’re good, but you think you’re gonna blow my mind or something?”

“Definitely.” Oikawa smirks.

The way Oikawa said it left no room for argument, his voice final and confident, yet lacking the arrogant edge that Oikawa would use to patronize others. They lapse into another silence as the sounds of feet meeting pavement replace words.

Suddenly, Iwaizumi speaks. “When is your next match?”

Oikawa’s eyes widen slightly. “We have a friendly match this Friday at my school’s gym. It’s at 7pm.” Trying not to grin, Oikawa asks, “Will you come?”

Iwaizumi nods. He pulls out his phone and creates a reminder for it, tucking the phone back into his pocket after he’s done. “I’ll be there. I don’t have work that day.”

It’s a wasted effort; Oikawa ends up grinning from ear to ear, practically bouncing in his steps now. His joy must be infectious, because Iwaizumi chuckles and grins backs. Iwaizumi lightly bumps his shoulder against Oikawa.

“I look forward to great plays from you.” 

“Of course, Iwa-chan. I don’t disappoint.”

________________

The week passes by in a frenzy with Oikawa throwing himself harder into practice. He finds himself looking forward to Friday’s match with increasing fervor, going as far as to arrive at practice first to squeeze in extra serves, which is remarkable since Oikawa is known to be fashionably late. While his teammates are impressed, they remind him that Friday is a friendly match with a rivaling school, convinced that Oikawa is confusing their match for an official match.

Oikawa laughs and tells them he knows, that he wants the team to do well and win on Friday like the champions they are. What he doesn’t say is that he’s also motivated for another entirely different reason.

Not only his pride as a setter is on the line but also a free meal from Iwaizumi. To make things more interesting (and because they’re stupidly competitive), Oikawa and Iwaizumi made a bet. Loser has to treat the winner to dinner with no restrictions, no complaints.

With the way both of them taunted each other, it’s safe to assume splurging on food is fair game. Though, even if Oikawa’s team wins and Iwaizumi has to pay, Oikawa isn’t cruel enough to suck Iwaizumi dry _(at least not in this sense),_ but he does plan on eating his fill.

Finally, Friday rolls around, and the match commences.

The first set progresses rapidly, and Oikawa’s team wins in a landslide, the score ending 25 – 16. His team easily took the lead in the beginning with Oikawa’s inhumane serves and ran with it. Oikawa could tell his teammates were doing well; they were merciless in their spikes and blocks. Yet unbeknownst to Oikawa, it was his serves and excruciating setter dumps that really set the tone.

Things escalate in the second set when desperation engulfs both teams, each side eager to score another point to win or turn the tide. Sweat drips down his temple as Oikawa fixates on the pinch server across the net. In an eerie way, the opposing team vaguely reminds Oikawa of Karasuno from his high school days, their renewed vigor is frustrating, yet admirable.

His team’s libero digs the serve perfectly, returning the ball to Oikawa, and Oikawa lifts his hands in the air to perform a smooth toss as he yells, “Makki!”

Hanamaki runs to the center and spikes, gritting his teeth when he gets shut out by the block. “Sorry!” he apologizes over the opposing cheers.

“Don’t mind!” Oikawa responds, slapping his back. 

Annoyingly, that block out leads to a deuce, the scoreboard now 24 – 24. As both sides rotate, Oikawa exchanges encouragements with his teammates and walks to the back. He catches the volleyball thrown to him.

It’s his turn to serve.

Oikawa bounces the ball and spins it fluidly between his hands, eyes focused and body tensed in anticipation, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He exhales when he hears the whistle blow. Tossing the ball up, Oikawa runs forward to jump serve as he hears the familiar _ol_ _ééé_ chorused in the background before ferociously slamming the ball across. A spike in serve form.

As if the court were a flip book, the ball is seen in front of Oikawa on one page and next, smashed against the polished hardwood floor on the other side of the court. A resounding smack signals the impact as the ball lands obscenely close to the outbound line, untouched.

There is a moment of stunned silence as eyes watch the ball slowly roll away. Then, the opposing referee blows his whistle and points his red flag down. The crowd erupts in a deafening roar. Oikawa’s teammates scream in excitement, full of secondhand pride.

“NO TOUCH ACE!”

“FUCK YEAH!”

“NICE SERVE, OIKAWA.”

“Oikawa, one more!”

Oikawa prepares to serve again. He leans his forehead against the ball and closes his eyes for a second, concentrating on himself, aware of every bodily sensation from his breathing to his drumming heartbeat.

The whistle blows for him to serve, and Oikawa opens his eyes. He feels good; everything seems to fade into white space, where only him and the ball exist, as muscle memory takes over. He repeats the jump serve movements in one graceful maneuver that underscores years-worth of honed skills, groomed to the highest caliber. 

Oikawa’s talent has only further bloomed since high school.

Cheeks puffed out with breath held in, Oikawa spikes the ball, pain shooting straight through his arm from the sheer impact, in a murderous trajectory aimed for the narrow space between the libero and the wing spiker.

Oikawa notices it, the imperceptible moment of hesitation between the two players. He bites his lip. The libero desperately dives for the ball but—Oikawa watches the horror seize him—the ball goes wide, landing helplessly out of bounds. 

A whistle blows.

The match is over; Oikawa’s team won a full set.

Immediately, Oikawa is tackled by his teammates, engulfed in a bone-crushing, collective embrace that leaves him gasping for air while his ears drown in cries of joy. Everyone is hollering over one another, voices indistinguishable in the ruckus. Oikawa doesn’t mind, the euphoria after winning is always moving. The high gradually ebbs, but Oikawa continues to feel elated throughout the closing ceremony.

Oikawa searches the audience after he bows and, almost instinctively, meets Iwaizumi’s eyes. Iwaizumi is located in an upper row, dressed in a simple yet slick attire with his signature denim jacket on, clapping appreciatively along with other spectators. He grins at Oikawa and nods, as if he’s conceding his loss. 

The obvious approval that lights Iwaizumi’s face triggers butterflies in Oikawa’s stomach. Oikawa smiles but suppresses the full extent of it, not wanting to draw attention to himself, especially with Hanamaki standing next to him.

They hold each other’s eyes for the remainder of the procession. The closing ceremony is brief, but with Iwaizumi’s gaze pinned on him, Oikawa thinks it’s too long. He hopes Hanamaki doesn’t notice the slight flush on his face.

When his coach dismisses the team, Oikawa tears his gaze away from Iwaizumi. He leaves with the rest of his team and tries not to think about the burning sensation on his back.

________________

In the locker room, more hair ruffles and hearty back slaps are exchanged, Oikawa being a main victim of them. Not that Oikawa minds of course, he is more than willing to bathe in praise, especially since he’s proud of himself for cutting the match off in the second set. The possibility of playing a full set became more apparent after their opponent’s bounce back, and Oikawa was not going to have it, determined to showcase his skills and his team’s power in clean, straight sets.

After gathering his stuff, Oikawa slings his volleyball bag across his shoulders and says his goodbyes to the team. He plans on rushing back to his apartment but before he can exit school grounds, he hears Hanamaki calling out to him. Oikawa turns around and sees Hanamaki waving at him with Matsukawa in tow. He waits for them to catch up.

Hanamaki throws an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders. “Hey Oikawa, Mattsun and I are gonna grab drinks later. Are you down?”

Oikawa smiles apologetically. “Sorry guys, already got plans tonight.”

“Oh?” Hanamaki peers at Oikawa, his lips curling. He steps back to look at Oikawa properly. “Like what?”

“Can we crash it?” Matsukawa jokes. 

Oikawa shakes his head. “I’m getting dinner with a friend, I’ll drink with you boys another time. Sorry, Makki, Mattsun, you’ll be deprived of my beautiful presence tonight.”

“A friend—” Hanamaki gasps, “ _that’s not us?"_ He pauses, an impish glint in his eyes. “Who could it be?” Tilting his head towards Matsukawa, Hanamaki smirks. “Mattsun, do you have an idea?”

“Mhm,” Matsukawa pretends to think, “someone with fine arms comes into mind.” He smirks lazily at Oikawa.

Oikawa begins to sputter in protest but stops at their knowing looks. Those two will see right through him. Oikawa whines, “Why are you guys this quick off the court and not on the court?”

“Hey!”

“That was a low blow.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out at them and laughs, “Kidding! But wait, how do you guys know?” He squints his eyes at them suspiciously.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “We saw Iwaizumi in the stands. What a supportive boyfriend.”

“You were blushing so hard earlier too.” Hanamaki snickers.

“Stop! He’s not my boyfriend!” Oikawa says, heat flaring across his cheeks. Damn, so Hanamaki did notice after all.

“Not yet, right?” Hanamaki retorts.

Oikawa tries not to blush as Hanamaki and Matsukawa waggle their brows in perfect synch at him, as if both of them are keenly aware of what’s going on in Oikawa’s personal life. Which, they probably do, judging by their smug faces. Damn.

“Makki! That’s none of your business! Mattsun, stop smirking!” Oikawa pouts. “You guys bully me too much. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get going.”

“Have fun.” Matsukawa smirks.

Hanamaki teases, “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

Oikawa grins as they bid their goodbyes, aware that Hanamaki’s words mean just the opposite, daring Oikawa to be bold. After crossing the street, Oikawa checks his phone for the time. Good, there’s more than enough time for him to shower and freshen up, his best clothes already laid out, before meeting up with Iwaizumi. Oikawa hurries back. He can’t wait to gloat to Iwaizumi.

________________

The restaurant that Iwaizumi chose is a cute ramen bar, charming in the homey yet grungy sense. The place is rather small, but it’s jam-packed, seemingly one of those hidden-gem restaurants where the food is bound to be delicious and populated by regulars. This seems to be the case when Iwaizumi greets the owner familiarly and secures them a nice seating area with a clear view of the chefs hand-making ramen.

The table is small, Oikawa’s knees nearly pressed against Iwaizumi’s under it while his hands could easily invade Iwaizumi’s personal space if Oikawa leaned forward a bit. Oikawa curiously looks around, noting that most of the tables are seated for pairs, a few seated for more. 

It’s intimate, Oikawa thinks, how he and Iwaizumi are sitting so closely together when they could have gone to another restaurant with far more leg space. But that thought is discarded when Oikawa smells the fresh ramen being served to the table next to them. The smell is mouth-watering, and any doubts of why Iwaizumi chose this place fly out of Oikawa’s head. Oikawa has to stop himself from drooling.

“Great match today,” Iwaizumi says, gaining Oikawa’s attention. His mouth quirks up like he’s about to admit something sacred. “Your serves are incredible.”

Oikawa beams at the awe that he can hear in Iwaizumi’s voice despite Iwaizumi trying to be nonchalant about it. “Thank you, Iwa-chan. I work hard on them!”

Iwaizumi nods. “Definitely, I can tell.” He picks up a piece of agedashi tofu and takes a bite.

Oikawa smiles broadly, his chest swelling with a jubilant feeling that he can’t describe. While Oikawa does not need other people’s approval to feel good about himself despite popular belief, Iwaizumi’s recognition is doing wonders to him. It’s empowering, and Oikawa didn’t realize how much he craved it until now.

Iwaizumi continues, “Your form is really good, clean.” Plopping another tofu into his mouth, he chews thoughtfully. “I can understand why the other team struggled with your serves.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan, you’re embarrassing me,” Oikawa says, his cheeks glowing. “Now do you understand why I’m so great?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, a great pain in the ass still. But I like your serves.”

Oikawa leans forward, his voice conspiratorial. “Is that the only thing you like about me?”

“Is there anything else to like?” Iwaizumi asks sarcastically.

“How mean, Iwa-chan. There’s plenty that I like about you, even if you scowl so much at me.” Oikawa says half-jokingly before biting his tongue.

Iwaizumi is about to retort when their server politely interrupts and delivers their bowls of fresh steaming ramen. Oikawa takes the opportunity to switch gears and digs into his spicy tonkotsu ramen, humming in delight as the strong, savory flavor inundates his palate. It’s not too spicy or too oily, just right. Not hearing a similar reaction, Oikawa peeks over at Iwaizumi.

“Is it good?” Iwaizumi asks, cocking a brow at him. He gently blows his shoyu ramen before taking a sip of the broth.

Oikawa enthusiastically nods. “Yeah, great pick. Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes,” Iwaizumi grunts. “I haven’t bothered to check out new places, so I tend to come back here since it’s easy. The owner knows me by now.”

Oikawa laughs, “What? But there are so many good places to try, especially near Uni.”

“Like what?” Iwaizumi chews his noodles while staring expectantly at Oikawa. Without missing a beat, Oikawa starts to tick restaurant names off his fingers, recalling his personal favorites with biased appreciation.

“Have you been to Totte’s? The brunch place with really good pastries.”

“No.”

“What about the new soufflé pancake place in Central mall?”

“No.”

“How about Miko’s Bakery and Café? Next to the Kinokuniya bookstore.”

“No.”

“Hmm, Sweet Tamago Café near West park?”

“No.”

“Then what about—”

“Shittykawa, why are you only listing sweet places?”

“Okay fine, have you been to old man Hiro’s soba shop in the fish market? It’s close to where you work.”

“No,” Iwaizumi says, for the nth time.

Oikawa leans back into his chair and shakes his head in pity. “Iwa-chan, do you live under a rock? Part of college is all about going out and eating and partying.” It was meant to be a tease, but evidently it wasn’t taken as that.

“Not everyone can afford to!”

The indignant response startles Oikawa who was expecting perhaps a gruff retort or an insult, not this serious, off-putting tone that Iwaizumi spoke with. Oikawa inwardly winces. He didn’t mean to offend Iwaizumi and frowns at himself for saying the wrong thing.

Iwaizumi immediately grimaces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He agitatedly runs a hand through his hair and looks away, his mouth downturned.

The mood is dampening, and Oikawa is pretty sure he struck a nerve inadvertently. He blames himself and is quick to soothe Iwaizumi.

“No worries, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, reassuring him in the same appeasing voice that he uses to calm his nephew Takeru when he’s throwing a (rare) temper tantrum. “If it helps, those places are pretty cheap. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be there.” Oikawa jokes, hoping to lighten Iwaizumi’s expression.

Iwaizumi cracks a slight grin, and the cloud seems to pass on his face. While the conversation hits a lull as both of them turn their attention to slurping noodles, Oikawa doesn’t feel too bothered, because Iwaizumi appears more at ease. After a brief moment, Iwaizumi coughs and Oikawa looks up from his bowl.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker over to him nervously. “Do you want to show me one of those places? I could try something new.”

Oikawa grins. “Yeah, I’d love to, Iwa-chan.”

His lack of hesitation does the trick. Iwaizumi’s shoulders relax and a large grin appears on his face, mirroring Oikawa’s. Easy-going conversation steadily picks up, and the rest of dinner goes on without a hitch. Oikawa finds himself laughing and enjoying the moment more than he’s willing to admit.

When it comes time to pay, Iwaizumi steps up as promised with his wallet out and cash ready in hand. Although initially the whole point was to eat a free meal, Oikawa ended up feeling bad and tried to argue with Iwaizumi at the cash wrap.

_“Iwa-chan, I ate two bowls of ramen, so I’ll pay for the second!”_

_“Shut up, Shittykawa! That’s not what we agreed on!”_

Now with the bill settled and stomach full of ramen, Oikawa’s not sure what to do next. Do they part ways now? Something inside Oikawa protests at that idea, wanting to linger and spend more time with Iwaizumi, but Oikawa doesn’t have an excuse.

Oikawa is about to suggest walking back together when Iwaizumi asks, “Do you want to grab a drink?”

“Oh, sure.” Oikawa smiles. “Do you know a place?”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “Yeah. I’m more familiar with the bars.”

Oikawa widens his eyes, pretending to be scandalized. “Iwa-chan, a drinker? Why am I not surprised?” he gasps, snickering.

“ _Tch,_ don’t write me off as a drunkard.”

Oikawa only grins and follows Iwaizumi into a bar of his choosing. Similar to the ramen shop, the bar is also somewhat dingy yet inviting with its cozy setting, crowded with various patrons mingling around, from working businessmen to supposedly college kids like them. Oikawa is starting to get an idea of what types of places that Iwaizumi likes.

Luckily, two bar stools open up, and they swiftly occupy them. Aware that Iwaizumi probably knows what’s good, Oikawa lets him order them two specialty beers. At this rate, Oikawa trusts that whatever place Iwaizumi frequents will be good. And he’s not disappointed.

“Wow, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa praises, taking another sip of his beer, “You’re really impressing me tonight.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth crooks up. “Probably not as much as you have impressed me earlier. I thought people overrated you, but now I know.”

“Iwa-chan, did you eat something wrong earlier? You’re scaring me.”

“Shut up and take the compliment.”

Oikawa playfully blows a kiss, to which Iwaizumi snorts at before drinking his beer. Trying to get comfier, Oikawa leans his body closer to Iwaizumi, causing their knees to touch. He doesn’t retract them, and Iwaizumi seems indifferent. Oikawa considers it a small victory.

“By the way,” Iwaizumi starts, his voice lowered and sounding strangely solemn, causing Oikawa to immediately perk up, “do you remember how you asked me if I missed volleyball?”

Oikawa slowly nods, not sure where he’s going with this.

“Well,” Iwaizumi admits softly, “I do. I really do. And watching you play today only reminded me of what I gave up…When I saw how alive you were on the court, I remembered feeling like that too. How fun volleyball was.”

Surprise flashes across Oikawa’s face, his mouth slacking. Maybe it’s the ambience or that Iwaizumi’s beer is nearly drained, but Iwaizumi seems willing to share personal details that he has never brought up before and Oikawa never probed for, his tongue loose and spilling words. Oikawa can hear the longing in his voice.

“To be honest, I didn’t want to quit volleyball. But I did because it was the right thing to do. My parents were already in a tough spot before sending me off to college, but it became worse when my mom got laid off right before I started.” Iwaizumi finishes his beer, as if relying on liquor courage to get the rest of the words out. He doesn’t look at Oikawa, instead gazing unfocusedly at the bar top.

“I didn’t want to be a bigger burden than I had to, so I chose not to play volleyball in college. I mentioned that, right? Well yeah, it was so I could work. My part-time job that you always visit me at keeps me afloat, gives me something else to focus on.” Iwaizumi chuckles humorlessly, “Sorry, didn’t mean to unload on you like that.”

Oikawa lets out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding in. Mindful of where they are, Oikawa lightly bumps his shoulder against Iwaizumi in what he hopes is comforting even though he really wants to hold him instead.

“I’m really happy that you shared that with me, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa smiles tenderly, feeling so special and honored that Iwaizumi trusts him with this vulnerable side of him. Unable to help himself, Oikawa pats Iwaizumi’s back affectionately. “You’re a good son.”

And Oikawa genuinely means it. He’s not sure if he would have made the same decision if their roles were reversed, because well—volleyball is _everything_ to Oikawa. He can’t imagine not playing so for Iwaizumi to make that hard decision, Oikawa only reveres him more. 

“Oh god,” Iwaizumi half-groans, half-laughs, “you sound like my father.”

The words roll off Oikawa’s tongue effortlessly. “Call me _daddy_ then.”

Iwaizumi chokes. 

Oikawa bursts out laughing; the flushed horror on Iwaizumi’s face and the buzz from alcohol render him into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Even Iwaizumi can’t help but crack a reluctant grin.

“God, fucking Oikawa. You’re a piece of shit,” Iwaizumi gripes, though with little heat behind the words. If Oikawa were sober, he would say Iwaizumi said it almost endearingly.

Oikawa wipes a tear away, his face surely flushed bright red from the alcohol and unrestrained laughter. “Iwa-chan, you make it too easy. I bet if I get you drunk enough, you’ll end up telling me all your embarrassing stories too.”

“ _Pft,_ I’d like to see you try.”

Oikawa smirks deviously.

________________

After Friday night, something shifts in their friendship and continues to over the course of the next 2 weeks. Oikawa can’t pinpoint what it is exactly but hanging out with Iwaizumi somehow feels even easier, like some hidden dam was knocked down and the water that was confined now flows smoothly. Iwaizumi acts the same, rough and to the point, but there’s a sense that he’s uninhibited too. 

Maybe it’s the touches. It hasn’t escaped Oikawa’s notice that Iwaizumi seems to be touching him more lately, whether in passing or deliberately. It used to mainly be punches or jabs thrown at him but now Iwaizumi is freely ruffling his hair or patting his shoulder or flicking his forehead at random times.

Part of Oikawa thinks it’s insignificant while another part of him, the same part that yearns for Iwaizumi, screams _progress._

If progress also means seeing Iwaizumi more, then yeah, Oikawa definitely made progress. Fridays have become an unofficial thing where Oikawa and Iwaizumi meet up at night to grab dinner somewhere, preferably cheap and near bars. What starts off as Friday dinners bleeds into a following Saturday brunch where Oikawa pesters Iwaizumi to try his plate of some form of sugary carbohydrates _(stop eating so much pancakes, you’re gonna get fat, Oikawa!)_ while he tries to steal some protein from Iwaizumi’s more responsible plate.

And before Oikawa knows it, visiting each other at their respective apartments becomes a norm. Oikawa finds himself lounging on Iwaizumi’s couch like he owns the place. He’s watching the TV, but his mind is more occupied with listening to Iwaizumi shuffling in the kitchen than catching backstabbing dialogue.

“Oii,” Iwaizumi appears and nudges Oikawa with his toe while holding a closed cooking pot in his hands, “move aside.”

Oikawa scooches over for Iwaizumi to sit and eagerly waits for him to set the pot down in the middle of the living room table. After passing chopsticks to Iwaizumi, Oikawa opens the cooking pot and deeply inhales the smell of spicy miso ramen; it smells just as good as the ramen bar that they went to together. 

“Oh my god. It looks so good, Iwa-chan. You really finessed it.” Oikawa stirs the ramen, his eyes sparkling. He finds half a soft boiled egg and takes it for himself before placing the other half into Iwaizumi’s bowl, earning him a pleased grunt.

Then Oikawa makes a displeased sound, “Ew, did you put scallions in here?”

Iwaizumi ignores the question when Oikawa can clearly see the answer. “Pass me the remote. I wanna see what else is on.” Iwaizumi flips through the channels quickly before settling on a variety show.

The sounds of audience laughing and slurping noises collide and create a strangely relaxing ambience that helps distract Oikawa from how close Iwaizumi is sitting next to him, their thighs nearly pressed against each other.

“Here,” Iwaizumi drops a piece of chashu into Oikawa’s bowl, “you can have it.”

A gasp of delight leaves Oikawa’s mouth before Oikawa pauses, voice lowering suspiciously. “Wait why? Is there something wrong with it?”

Iwaizumi deadpans, “No dumbass. I’m just giving it to you.”

“You made ramen for us tonight and now you’re giving me the good pieces, who are you? And what have you done with Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t bother to respond, continuing to devour his food as the variety show ends and a high school drama comes on. It’s the kind of cringy drama where misunderstandings drive the plot, and the characters are painful to watch like half of their purpose is to give the viewer secondhand embarrassment.

Yet, Oikawa can’t tear his eyes away. He’s slouched on the couch, basking in his food coma as he watches the main girl hand the main guy a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Surely that idiot knows she’s confessing right?

Oikawa feels Iwaizumi slumped next to him, their shoulders touching as both of them have sunk further into the couch amidst their digestion, their empty bowls left on the table. He casts a glance at Iwaizumi, noting that he is indeed awake and surprisingly still watching the drama too.

They’re halfway through the episode when Oikawa notices an uncanny similarity.

“Iwa-chan.”

“Mm?”

“You’re like the main guy. He’s as dense as you.”

 _“_ Haah? What are you talking about?”

“I bet you wouldn’t know if someone liked you even after they practically confessed to you.”

“What?! Of course, I fucking would.”

Oikawa makes a sound of disagreement. “If you say so.”

“ _Tsk._ Maybe small gestures would go over my head, but I’m not a dumbass, Shittykawa. I would know if someone liked me.”

“Okay, Iwa-chan.”

“Stop sounding like that. And the girl didn’t confess, so don’t hate on Hikaru.”

Oikawa jolts up, staring at Iwaizumi in disbelief. “Reiko literally gave him a heart of chocolates earlier, did you not see? If that’s not a confession, then I don’t know what the fuck is.”

Iwaizumi stares back blandly. “That’s a typical high school thing, and they’re friends,” he says like it’s obvious. “Besides, she should have just kissed him if she really wants to get her point across. Tiptoeing around won’t make a difference. I would get it if someone was direct with me.” 

Oikawa’s brows knit together in a contemplating expression as he falls back against the couch. He’s silent for the rest of the episode. When the ending song cues in, the comfortable weight against Oikawa disappears as Iwaizumi twists to stretch himself out, groaning satisfyingly when a few joints pop. Oikawa remains unmoving.

Just as Iwaizumi turns his attention from the dirty dishes on the table to the immobile body besides him, Oikawa makes up his mind.

Their eyes meet and before Iwaizumi can say anything, Oikawa leans forward. There is only a soft exhale of breath against Iwaizumi’s mouth as a warning before Oikawa closes the small gap between them and kisses him.

The contact is light and barely there, but it sparks a fire inside Oikawa, spurring him to shed his hesitation and press his lips more firmly against Iwaizumi’s mouth. Shyly, Oikawa withdraws to lick Iwaizumi’s bottom lip and then kisses him deeper when his mouth parts open. One hand moves to cradle the back of Iwaizumi’s head while the other cups Iwaizumi’s cheek, thumb caressing the smooth skin. Oikawa has imagined this countless times and to finally realize it, he melts, sighing into Iwaizumi’s mouth.

He’s so lost in familiarizing himself with Iwaizumi’s slightly chapped yet delectable lips that he momentarily forgets himself, engrossed in the sensation of memorizing every feel and sound that is Iwaizumi. Not even the background droning of the TV can distract Oikawa and reduce the mood with its cheesy commercial jingles, instead subtle kissing noises punctuate the air. 

Sooner than he would like, Oikawa’s lungs burn, and he has to pull back a miniscule distance to catch his breath, just for a small respite, before he can recapture Iwaizumi’s lips and feel the heat of his mouth again.

_“Fuck."_

The word escapes Iwaizumi’s mouth, and it’s not the good kind—the complete _opposite._

Oikawa jerks himself away from Iwaizumi, reeling from shock, as the haze that clouded his mind immediately dissipates, blown away with no trace remaining. He heard it loud and clear, even while disoriented, the level of repulsion uttered through that one word pierced through, jarring Oikawa back to reality. His body stiffens as Oikawa brings himself to look at Iwaizumi.

His heart sinks.

Iwaizumi’s expression is not what Oikawa was expecting. And that’s when cold dread fills every pore of Oikawa’s being, the chilled feeling settling over him like a bucket of icy water was dumped on him. That feeling morphs into mortification when he realizes that he made a mistake. He misjudged. Horribly. And unlike in previous trivial circumstances where he could laugh it off, the severity of it dawns on Oikawa. _He_ _fucked up._

Oikawa disentangles himself from Iwaizumi with an aloofness that bleakly contrasts his heated actions from earlier and inserts a respectable amount of space between them, nearly scooting off the couch. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Oikawa does his best to school his expression and gives a tight, apologetic smile.

“I-I’m sorry, Iwa-chan. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me. I thought that maybe, well, since you said—” Oikawa clamps his mouth shut. He tries again but to no avail, his voice wavers, “M-my bad, Iwa-chan. Don’t worry about it.”

Then Oikawa abruptly stands. “I think I should go.”

“Wait, Oikawa!” Iwaizumi springs into action, trying to grab Oikawa’s hand but misses when Oikawa skitters away.

“Damnit wait, _Oikawa—"_

Oikawa’s not listening. He is already at the doorway, hastily jabbing his feet into his shoes. Unshed tears burn Oikawa’s eyes and blur his vision, making the task seem impossible. His only functional thought is to leave before he exacerbates the situation or worse, ugly cry; the last thing he wants is for Iwaizumi to find him pathetic too.

His heartbeat races and drowns out whatever Iwaizumi is trying to say to him, the thumping so potent that it feels like his heart will jump out of his chest. Oikawa vaguely hears something crash in the background followed by cursing, but he is so distressed with hurt and shame that he doesn’t look back and yanks the door open, unable to bear another second in Iwaizumi’s presence.

In moments, he is out the door and sprinting away from the apartment, the sound of Iwaizumi’s disgust plaguing his mind. 

That night, Oikawa shuts down his phone and goes to bed early. He wants to sleep the night away and forget about the whole disaster, push it off as a tomorrow problem, but his mind won’t cooperate. _What was he thinking?_

He tries to think of nothing, anything, or meaningless thoughts, but his brain doesn’t listen and conjures memories of Iwaizumi’s lips, of how wonderful they felt against his, of the warmth that Iwaizumi radiated before it all ends with that sound, that disgust that rang though, tarnishing it all. This time, alone in his room, Oikawa cries, sobs racking his entire body, as he thinks about the irreparable mess that he has created in their friendship, all because of his blunder.

But maybe if he plays it off coolly or casually, then it’s not a big deal. Oikawa could pretend that he never kissed Iwaizumi and act normal and they can continue to be friends, no boundaries breached. Today would be an outlier that neither of them has to acknowledge or mention ever again. The thought is reassuring and heartbreaking.

Oikawa deflates. He finally got to kiss Iwaizumi, and he can’t even remember it fondly. It’s cruel.

________________

When Oikawa wakes up blearily, he feels no better than expected, low in spirits and unsurprised. Despite his best efforts, sleep eluded him last night and the dried tear tracks on his face remind him that yesterday was, unfortunately, very real. Though, he is grateful for the small mercy that it’s Sunday, and there is nowhere that he has to be. He can stay in bed as long as he wants.

Oikawa keeps his phone off. He doesn’t want to witness the possible flood of messages or missed calls from Iwaizumi, each most likely a form of rejection waiting to happen. Or worse, not hear from Iwaizumi at all. Somehow the idea of seeing nothing from Iwaizumi guts Oikawa more because maybe that means Iwaizumi cares so little for their friendship that he’s willing to let it fall to pieces just like that. 

That thought breaks Oikawa in its own harrowing way, yet he doesn’t think he’s capable of crying anymore, his tear ducts feel so dry. If anything, he feels a sense of resignation that eats away at him. It’s just that, Oikawa was _so sure_ that Iwaizumi was giving him the green light last night, that his comments were metaphorically encouraging him to make a move.

And he did…and look where that got him.

The urge to hide under his bedsheets resurfaces. Oikawa is still grappling with how to fix this, but for now, he will resort to the temporary solution of allowing time to remedy the situation, hoping that with enough time, his blunder will become a past memory and inconsequential.

Of course, that all depends on whether Iwaizumi would be willing to forgive him, much less treat him the same.

Remembering how Iwaizumi reacted with such revulsion makes Oikawa’s stomach drop. At this rate, Oikawa thinks he will do in himself from frayed nerves and starvation, the latter a reminder that he barely ate anything this morning amidst his emotional ordeal.

The fridge is sparse and almost as pitiful as Oikawa feels. Ordering takeout sounds ideal, but then Oikawa thinks better of it, deciding that going out to grocery shop and breathing fresh air will do him more good.

Oikawa gives himself an excuse and breezes through getting ready, styling his hair by raw hand and water than gel, and as a compromise, dabs a bit of concealer underneath his eyes. After tugging on an old pair of black sweats that still fits well and a clean, plain teal shirt, Oikawa grabs his keys and goes. He already feels a little better, a little less mopey, and looks forward to grocery shopping, ready to focus his mind on other important matters like his craving for karaage chicken and rice. A refresher is what he needs.

His trip to the supermarket is short-lived and uneventful and exactly what he needs, that is, until he comes back. As Oikawa walks up the last steps to his floor, he notices a figure looming down the hallway and judging by the distance, near his door. Oikawa lightly frowns, hoping his neighbor didn’t lock herself out again. It’s not uncommon but seriously, her memory seems more fitting for an elderly woman than a student studying pre-med, considering memorization is essentially her major.

But when Oikawa passes two doors, he freezes in his place. His grip on the grocery bags tightens, his knuckles turning white, as Oikawa owlishly blinks to double check that he’s not hallucinating.

That is definitely not his neighbor.

Rather, there leaning against the wall next to his apartment door with an unmistakable scowl is Iwaizumi, hunched over his phone and dressed in a similar state as Oikawa with his gray joggers and rumpled hoody. Any previous time, Oikawa would be elated to see Iwaizumi waiting for him like when they’re about to head off to eat or walk home, but not now. Sirens are going off in Oikawa’s head.

Why is Iwaizumi here? There’s no reason for him to be here, especially after what Oikawa did. _Oh no,_ Oikawa dreads. Iwaizumi came to personally break off their friendship; that’s the only logical answer. Oikawa didn’t expect this and doesn’t want to face him, but Iwaizumi is _right there._ If he tries to flee, Iwaizumi would notice and where would he even go? He’s carrying groceries for fuck’s sake. Not like he’ll get far.

Oikawa shudders a breath and bravely moves forward.

“…Iwa-chan?”

Instantly, Iwaizumi looks up from glowering at his phone to face the direction of the voice calling his name. His eyes land on Oikawa and for a moment, both of them stare at each other wordlessly.

“Um,” Oikawa starts, “What are you doing here?” He already knows though.

Iwaizumi clears his throat. “I was waiting for you. You weren’t answering your phone so I thought something had happened, like you hurt yourself or something bad…but, uh, guess you’re fine…” He grimaces.

The awkwardness is palpable. It should be endearing that Oikawa gets to see this rare, uncharacteristic side of Iwaizumi, great material for future teasing, except currently, it’s making Oikawa’s insides coil uncomfortably.

Oikawa shifts his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. He asks again, “What are you doing here, Iwa-chan?”

“I want to talk to you,” Iwaizumi says quietly, lacking his usual gruffness. “Can we go inside for this…please?”

The gentleness in Iwaizumi’s voice puts Oikawa further on edge; it reinforces Oikawa’s belief that what’s to come is going to be unpleasant if Iwaizumi wants them inside and out of sight from bystanders. Which is fine, Oikawa would much rather suffer this unfolding imbroglio in private than risk public humiliation. 

While Iwaizumi closes the door behind them, Oikawa patiently waits in front of his kitchen counter with false bravo, his hands wringing behind his back. The grocery bags are pushed aside on the counter, unpacked. Oikawa hopes that this encounter will be quick and, if even remotely possible, painless so that he can fill his freezer with the ice cream that he just stockpiled on before they melt.

Iwaizumi moves to stand before him, his expression unreadable. “Oikawa, about yesterday,” he begins, “when you kissed me…I know my reaction probably threw you off—and I don’t blame you—but I want you to know that I—”

“It’s okay, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa blurts out. The conversation isn’t going to go well no matter how nicely Iwaizumi tries to phrase it, so Oikawa thinks it’s better to cut to the chase and save both of them unnecessary pain, at least in his case. “I overstepped my boundaries and I won’t do it again! I promise.”

Iwaizumi’s brows furrow deeply, the skin between them crinkling like scrunched up paper, as his jaw visibly tenses. Oikawa panics, interpreting these as signs that he has to do better to make amends.

Oikawa rushes on, “You don’t have to tell me, Iwa-chan—I know you’re disgusted with me and I get it. _You don’t like men_. I didn’t mean to force myself on you. Please forgive me. I’ll be more careful so—" his voice chokes off and Oikawa hates himself it. He swallows and finishes weakly, voice nearly pleading, “Can we please stay as friends…?”

Iwaizumi stares at him stunned.

It’s not looking promising. Oikawa’s brain is going haywire; the words that are coming out of his mouth seem to make Iwaizumi more and more frustrated if his increasingly fierce scowl is any indication, and Oikawa has no clue why. He is frantically searching for something to say that will reverse the tide and not make Iwaizumi look at him like this, like he can’t believe Oikawa.

Does this mean Iwaizumi can’t stand him anymore? Now that he knows that Oikawa likes him _like that_. Oikawa can imagine it; Iwaizumi will become uncomfortable with his touch and assume each brush of limbs or pat on the back is filled with purpose, that even an innocuous touch will be mistaken for predatory.

It will be an excruciating dynamic, but Oikawa is willing to accept anything with Iwaizumi over not having him at all in his life. What does that say about Oikawa?

Heart clogged in his throat, Oikawa wishes for the time back when they were happily bickering with each other, when their biggest argument was debating over who was the best V.League men’s team. It’s frightening how it seems like a lifetime ago. 

Oikawa forgoes his pretense. “Iwa-chan,” he pleads, “You don’t have to worry about me coming onto you again. We can forget about it and move on like nothing happened.” If Oikawa thought those were the magical words that would restore balance, oh how wrong he was.

 _“Oikawa, stop talking such bullshit!_ ”

Startled, Oikawa rears back as Iwaizumi advances forward, dangerously closing in on Oikawa’s personal space. The kitchen counter digs uncomfortably into Oikawa’s lower back and forces Oikawa to stand his ground. Thankfully, Iwaizumi halts a foot away, his hands balled into tight, shaking fists. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Iwaizumi commands. “I didn’t come here to end our friendship or do whatever the hell you’re thinking. I came here, because I wanted to clarify things with you because—” he heaves angrily, “ _I fucked up_. It’s my fault.”

Oikawa is dumbfounded, and he doesn’t think he can handle any more emotional stress. The pain on Iwaizumi’s face baffles him; why is he sorry? Iwaizumi is not the one who made inappropriate moves on his best friend. The overwhelming combination of confusion and heartache renders Oikawa incapable of coherent thought. He doesn’t know what’s going on. His face must give him away because Iwaizumi continues,

“I’m sorry that I reacted poorly yesterday. I was caught off guard. I didn’t think you would do that so—”

“—I’m sorry.”

“Oikawa, let me finish!”

Iwaizumi roughly breathes through his nose. It’s obvious that he is struggling to contain his temper, and Oikawa worries why he can’t seem to say the right thing. There are prominent lines appearing on Iwaizumi’s face, some that Oikawa has never seen—under his eyes, traces around his mouth. His distress is achingly apparent, and it makes Oikawa feel worse than trash. 

“God Oikawa, you’re making this so fucking difficult,” Iwaizumi growls, stalking even closer.

He is now a few scant centimeters away. His proximity is both thrilling and nerve-racking, though Oikawa is leaning towards the latter right now. And despite Oikawa being taller by a handful of centimeters, his height a point of advantage, he feels cornered by Iwaizumi. Oikawa grips the counter edge hard to steady himself.

Then unexpectedly, Iwaizumi gently, so gently, cups both sides of Oikawa’s face as he stares resolutely into wide, chocolate-brown eyes.

“Listen to me carefully, Oikawa. I don’t want you to misunderstand me. I’m sorry for yesterday. I’m sorry that I made you think that you forced yourself on me—you didn’t. I was just surprised and said the first dumb thing that came to mind. I was angry at myself for doubting you.” Iwaizumi caresses his face tenderly. “But now, I’m sure.”

“I don’t understand,” Oikawa whispers, his eyes dilated and unblinking.

“What I’m trying to say is, I like you. _I like you, Oikawa._ ”

Iwaizumi clenches his jaw when Oikawa slowly shakes his head. Oikawa doesn’t believe what he is hearing. He can’t reconcile Iwaizumi’s words with his actions from yesterday; he can’t unhear the disgust that Iwaizumi expressed. He removes Iwaizumi’s hands from his face but doesn’t let go, letting their hands remain connected but limp between them.

“Please don’t lie to me, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa squeezes Iwaizumi’s wrists. “You were so repulsed when I kissed you. Why would you say that? This isn’t funny.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t hold back his frown. “I’m not joking. I’m being serious, Oikawa. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about me but when you kissed me, I realized how stupid I was. I was upset with myself for not realizing it earlier, for not having the courage to ask you out first.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly, “Fuck, this is not how I imagined I would confess to you.”

Oikawa’s heart skips a beat at the word ‘confess.’ His nerves are starting to go hysterical for another completely different reason. He has to verify that his ears are not betraying him and that this is real, that what Iwaizumi is saying is not some sick joke.

“You really mean it?” Oikawa asks, his voice somewhere between hopeful and skeptical.

“I do.” Iwaizumi tilts his head towards Oikawa, delicately pressing their foreheads together, as he hugs him tight to his chest, trapping Oikawa between his hard body and the counter.

“You’re an absolute pain in the ass, but I fucking like you, Oikawa. I’m sorry that I gave you the wrong impression. I really mean what I said. You’re obnoxious and annoyingly attractive, and I want you. I want to be with you.”

Oikawa beams blindingly, unbridled as relief and joy encompasses his entire being. He feels like every fear, every worry and emotional injury that he self-inflicted on himself, disappeared like a crushing weight was lift off his shoulders. He can breathe again. Oikawa deeply inhales Iwaizumi’s musk and twines his arms around his neck, tugging at his hair playfully.

“You’re mean even in your confession, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa giggles.

Iwaizumi snorts, but Oikawa can feel his smile against his skin when Iwaizumi moves to hook his chin over Oikawa’s shoulder. Letting out a sigh, Oikawa rests his head against the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck, feeling the toll of the last few minutes. He presses a chaste kiss beneath Iwaizumi’s ear.

“I’m so happy, Iwa-chan. I like you too. I like you _so much._ That’s why I was so worried that I messed up. I really thought you were going to end our friendship,” Oikawa murmurs against exposed skin.

“Don’t be dumb, Shittykawa. Even if I wasn’t into you, a kiss wouldn’t ruin us, especially when you’ve done worse things.” 

Oikawa huffs, unsure if he’s amused or offended. “Iwa-chan, we just got together, and you’re already hurting my feelings. Don’t you know how to be sweet and romantic to your _boyfriend?”_

Iwaizumi pulls back and smirks. “I do. I’ll show you.”

Before Oikawa can process his intentions, Iwaizumi cups Oikawa’s face again and kisses him. And unlike their first kiss, Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate to seize Oikawa’s mouth and take control of the kiss. The sudden contact startles Oikawa, but then he rapidly eases into it, hungrily kissing Iwaizumi back.

The edge of the counter digs further into Oikawa’s back until he decides to break the kiss and hop onto the countertop instead. Oikawa smiles coyly while he brazenly spreads his legs for Iwaizumi, the message clear. Iwaizumi’s face darkens and in one step, he fills the space. Immediately, Iwaizumi’s mouth is back on his. Oikawa sighs in pleasure, wasting no time to hook his legs around Iwaizumi’s trim waist as his hands fly everywhere, grasping and tugging at fabric in their exploration.

He clutches the front of Iwaizumi’s hoody to tug him even closer, desperately trying to meld their bodies together as if space was a nonexistent idea. Iwaizumi palms his hand up and down Oikawa’s outer thigh, massaging the muscle with heavy-handed strokes. Oikawa changes courses and glides his hands under Iwaizumi’s hoody, pleasantly discovering nothing but bare toned muscles awaiting him. Just as he expected, Iwaizumi is ripped.

The pacing of their kisses escalates and if Oikawa thought Iwaizumi would be tentative in handling him, he’s sorely mistaken. He is ill-prepared for the onslaught of tongue and teeth, panting, moaning into Iwaizumi’s mouth as Iwaizumi dominates his mouth with clever tongue swipes and lip biting. While Oikawa has his fair share of lewd make-outs, Iwaizumi is in a league of his own.

At some point between sliding tongues and sucking, Oikawa finds himself flat on his back on the countertop, squirming under Iwaizumi’s attention. He couldn’t keep himself upright, the task too difficult under overwhelming heat and wet kisses. Oikawa moans when Iwaizumi shoves his tongue deeper down his throat as his thighs squeeze Iwaizumi in response, earning him a low groan. 

Oikawa preens at the guttural noises that he’s causing Iwaizumi to make. They’re nothing like that sound of disgust that haunted Oikawa before, when he didn’t know better.

In record time, Oikawa feels hot and bothered, frustrated by the layers of clothing that separate him from Iwaizumi’s bare skin, at his own clothing which sticks uncomfortably close to his skin. He wants to feel more, wants to feel hot skin rubbing and sliding against his own, feel the moisture bead on their skin from the scorching heat. Oikawa is just about to act on his impulse and shove Iwaizumi’s hoody off, push it up to reveal hard pectorals and over his broad shoulders before shedding his own shirt when an unbidden thought occurs to him.

If they keep this up, they might fuck for the first time right there on Oikawa’s kitchen counter, in broad daylight, even though a comfy bed for two is much more preferable. Oikawa is conflicted but continues to kiss Iwaizumi relentlessly. His body is wound up like a taut bow and uncomfortably aroused. The prospect of making a new fond memory in his kitchen with Iwaizumi sounds tempting and more exhilarating than Oikawa wants to acknowledge but still.

Oikawa has a hard time breaking away, either Iwaizumi chases his lips or begins sucking at his skin or he’s the one biting Iwaizumi, pleading in Iwaizumi’s ears for more. Oikawa knows that he’s acting wanton, and he 100% blames it on Iwaizumi, specifically his mouth. Iwaizumi’s mouth is hot and wicked; his lips slant in differing angles every few seconds, trying to thoroughly plunder Oikawa’s mouth with his tongue.

It’s when Iwaizumi teases his fingers along Oikawa’s waistband that Oikawa tries to protest.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, his voice breathless and airy, “take me to dinner first before you try to get into my pants.”

Iwaizumi chuckles darkly. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” He pushes himself off Oikawa.

Up until this point, Oikawa hadn’t realized how engaged their lower halves were so when Iwaizumi stills and the delicious grinding and friction stops cold, he whines in disappointment, his legs instinctively tightening their hold around Iwaizumi’s waist.

“What?” Iwaizumi laughs. “What’s wrong?”

Oikawa makes a sound of frustration and pulls Iwaizumi down again. “I want you so bad, Iwa-chan.” He peppers Iwaizumi’s face with kisses. “But we should at least go on a date first.”

Iwaizumi shudders. He says hoarsely, “I want you too.” He thrusts against Oikawa to show what he means, and both of them groan loudly. Then Iwaizumi jokes, “Does that mean you would put out on the first date?”

Oikawa blushes prettily. “No.” But then he bites his lip and qualifies, “Well, maybe for you. Don’t look so smug, Iwa-chan! I’m not easy. Who do you think I am?”

Iwaizumi teases, “There’s nothing wrong about that, Judgykawa.” His hooded eyes glint, the smirk on his face irresistible.

Oikawa can’t help himself. He bites Iwaizumi’s lip in retaliation before licking the bruised spot. He intended to leave it at that, but Iwaizumi reclaims his lips, prompting them into another series of heated kisses. So much for separation. 

“Fuck, Iwa-chan. Stop making this hard on me,” Oikawa whines, panting against Iwaizumi’s neck. 

“Don’t blame me, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi mutters. “You’re the one who’s still holding onto me. Let go of me, and we can go eat or something.”

“Ah!” Oikawa gasps. “I bought food, and I think my ice cream melted!”

After that dumb revelation and following laughter, they gingerly peel themselves away from each other. Iwaizumi helps Oikawa stand, steadying him on his wobbly legs. And while it’s obvious, both of them don’t mention their hardness. It’s uncomfortable, but Oikawa promises himself _next time._

With groceries unpacked, ice cream in the freezer, Oikawa turns his attention back to Iwaizumi who was watching him. The staring doesn’t faze Oikawa, but his heart soars, warmth gushing throughout his body, when he notices the unveiled fondness in Iwaizumi’s eyes. Oikawa beams radiantly, his smile wide and full of affection for the man before him. He could get used to this.

________________

“So,” Oikawa starts innocently, “how were you going to confess to me?”

Iwaizumi pauses his chopping, visibly taken aback a bit. He’s in the middle of preparing what Oikawa dubs ‘finessed ramen’ when he pops the random question. A week has passed after their messy milestone, and they have come a full circle with Iwaizumi making ramen again, except Oikawa can shamelessly eye him now from where he’s perched on the kitchen chair.

Things should feel different with their new development, but surprisingly they don’t. Oikawa was worried at first that they would walk on eggshells around each other to avoid couple fights but, thankfully, that fear was shut down. Their dynamic largely remains the same since they can’t help but provoke each other over dumb things, and Oikawa wouldn’t have it any other way.

Though, the added bonuses of intimacy certainly give their relationship a twist that Oikawa’s not afraid to leverage. More than once, Oikawa has shut Iwaizumi up with a searing kiss to dodge his lectures. Iwaizumi probably caught on since he gave Oikawa a taste of his own medicine the other day, but Oikawa digresses.

He’s still waiting for a response. “Mm, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa grins when he sees the tips of Iwaizumi’s ears flush in embarrassment.

“It wasn’t going to be anything grand, if that’s what you’re thinking, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says as he resumes chopping daikon radishes. 

“I wasn’t!” Oikawa defends, “It’s the thought that counts. I’m just curious when you would have said something if I hadn’t done anything.”

Iwaizumi grunts, appearing in thought. He tosses the radishes into the boiling pot and turns around to face Oikawa. “I probably would have waited longer since I wasn’t sure.” He shrugs, “I had a feeling you were coming on to me for a while, but I couldn’t tell if you were being serious or just an obnoxious flirt. You have a reputation for that.”

“What?!”

“What?”

Oikawa gapes at Iwaizumi. “Wait, so you knew I was into you, Iwa-chan? You should have said something sooner!”

Iwaizumi scowls. “Deafkawa, were you not listening? I wanted to be sure that you liked me _that way_ since—" he gestures vaguely at Oikawa, “girls tend to flock to you, and you don’t exactly push them away.”

Oikawa tilts his head quizzically. “How do you know that?” He watches Iwaizumi give him an unimpressed look before he turns off the stove and brings the ramen pot to the kitchen table.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa presses, “tell me—I mean you’re not wrong. I don’t like to push adoring fans away, but I never flaunted them in front of you. When did you see me surrounded by girls?”

The delicious smell of ramen wafts through the room when Iwaizumi uncovers the pot, but Oikawa’s attention remains fixed on Iwaizumi, not budging on an answer. He’s trying to think when Iwaizumi may have seen him like that and comes up empty-handed.

Iwaizumi groans, “Will you drop it? It was like, what, last year or something when you came to play against our school’s volleyball team? I was nearby and saw you swarmed by girls. I thought you were some fuckboy, that’s how I recognized you when you approached me earlier this year. Obviously, it doesn’t matter now.”

After dropping that bomb, Iwaizumi casually begins to eat while Oikawa stammers, “I-is that why you were so mean to me when we first met? You thought badly of me. _Tsk,_ Iwa-chan, I didn’t think you were the type to judge people beforehand.”

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa listens and sighs blithely. “Don’t worry, Iwa-chan,” he says with a mouthful of chewed ramen, “you’re mine, and I am yours now. You don’t have to worry about any girls or anyone else taking me away.”

His unexpected declaration of love makes Iwaizumi flush a dark red and almost choke on a radish. Oikawa quickly hands him a glass of water. Iwaizumi gulps half of it before he mutters, “God Oikawa. I feel like you’re going to shorten my life span with the shit you say. I can’t tell if I want to smack you or fuck you.”

“ _Iwa-chan!”_ Oikawa squeals, covering his face with his hands. “You’re making me blush!”

Iwaizumi deadpans, “I’m being honest.” After a pause, he softly says, “But you’re right, Oikawa. You’re my partner, and I’m happy to call you mine.”

The chopsticks tumble from Oikawa’s hands and clatter onto the table. Oikawa’s lip wobbles as his eyes grow comically wide, shining and reflective under the fluorescent lighting. Oikawa feels completely awestruck. How Iwaizumi manages to make him hot one moment and soft like pudding the next is astounding.

“Iwa-chan…”

Iwaizumi lightly frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Regaining his chopsticks, Oikawa murmurs, “Nothing. Eat up, Iwa-chan. We have a long night ahead of us.”

Iwaizumi blinks uncomprehendingly. “What?”

Oikawa gives Iwaizumi a come-hither look, eyes half-lidded. “You know what I mean, Iwa-chan. Forget the bar, we’re not going anywhere tonight.”

.

.

.

And true to Oikawa’s words, they stay in.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! just want you to know that i'm coping with my college graduation and the current pandemic (be safe!) by drowning myself in iwaoi, lol.  
> wrote this while thinking of my time in Japan and visiting the Tsukiji fish market, sadly the market is closed  
> anyway, hope you guys enjoyed it! :)
> 
> Dec. 2020 update: I became 200% more social! :D  
> catch me easily at [Twitter](https://twitter.com/namelonbun) , [Insta](https://www.instagram.com/namelonbun/?hl=en)


End file.
